Page 162 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

“I beat him myself. Badly. I wanted him to die. Days had gone by. But I needed him alive, if there was a chance I could find you. I put him in his car. And let him drive off.”

He passed out behind the wheel and wrapped his Mercedes around a tree. His injuries from my beating contributed to that accident.

“It’s my fault, Sandrine. All of it, including you having to live in that horrible state-run place.”

Had De la Vega lived, Jagger never would have stolen the money for her care, and she wouldn’t have had to spend those years at Lakeshore.

“No, it’s that monster’s fault.” She walks up to Chernov.

She looks down at the man who stole five years from her, from us. Who tried to steal forever from us.

“You bastard,” she yells, lips snarled, then she spits on him.

Before I can react, she kicks him in the kidneys. Once. Then again. It’s not graceful, and there’s no restraint. She unleashes raw, unfiltered fury that she’s been holding back and finally has a place for it to land.

God help me… I feel dark lust curl low in my groin. There she is. My wife. She’s not broken or fragile.

She’s mine.

Still, I step in before she can go further, before the rage consumes her entirely. I know what that’s like and what it can do to the soul. I wrap my hand around her waist and press my lips to the back of her neck.

She jerks slightly at my attempt to anchor her. Twisting in my hold, she stares with glassy but burning eyes.

“You need to rest,” I whisper. “It’s almost morning. I’ll have the nanny wake up Violet and get her to school.”

Sandrine blinks at the mention of Violet. Our daughter grounds her, pulls her back from the edge. “I’ll do it. I’m fine. Emily’s mom asked for a playdate. I won’t make the nanny tell her no. I’ll⁠—”

“Go,” I ground out. “Take Violet to the playdate.”

“Are you sure?”

I huff out a breath that might almost be a laugh, brushing my thumb over her knuckles. “I have to get a dead body out of the house.”

Her mouth twitches. It’s not quite a smile, but close enough to loosen the tightness in my chest. My voice returns to that calm, controlled register that defines everything I do.

“Clean this up,” I say to Drago without looking at the rest of my men.

“Yes, Pakhan.” Drago is already moving with the deadly efficiency of an enforcer.

I guide Sandrine toward the entrance. My hand settles on the small of her back, steadying her as we go.

“I can walk,” she says with a new solidness to her spine.

“I know,” I murmur, but I don’t let go.

At the threshold, she turns to me, rising onto her toes before I can anticipate it. She presses her mouth to mine in a brief kiss.

“I love you,” she whispers against my lips, her voice breaking just enough to make my balls tighten. “I didn’t leave you. I didn’t leave Violet.”

Her eyes search mine like she needs to know that I believe her. Finally.

“I didn’t want to believe that you did,” I admit, my voice rougher now. I cup her cheek, my thumb brushing beneath her eyes. “Now we know the truth.”

Her breath shudders out. “What about Tamara?”

My jaw tightens, hearing that name. The source of all of this. “I’m handling that next.”

I have something that will make her wish she were dead. Or someone.